I was not going to be one of those people this summer. By those people, I mean, the person you greet in the grocery story with a simple, “Hi, how are you?” and they respond with “It’s hot, and I am miserable, and let me tell you how miserable I am, which might possibly make me feel better, or might not, but it will enable me to spend more time in the grocery store, so let’s chat about me and my sweat, shall we?”.

It was an honest attempt.  I made it through half the summer, helped, I admit, by lower temperatures. I managed to be out of town, or stay out of town, on the hot days. And on the days where it was over 95, I stayed in, or if I had to go outside and actually greet people I had a handy work around.

“How are you?” ” Well, I am not complaining about the heat this summer, at least not with my outside voice.”

And then they begin complaining, so I get to enjoy and engage in the complaining, simply by agreeing with them. And I get to stay in the freezer aisle a few moments longer.

Until yesterday.  By 4:00  pm I knew I was done, but I stayed at work until 5:15. I went to the far away grocery store and crossed the pavement. Ran into a friend at the deli, where we were both buying salads.

“How are you?”

“Hot, and I hate it.”

The checker asked me how my day was and I repeated my new, unpleasant mantra,  “Hot and I hate it.” He asked me if I’d like a glass of iced water. I said I’d prefer a glass of iced October. He had no idea what I meant.

Came home, ate the salads, drank a beer, watched some of the All Star Game with Steve. Read Vanity Fair. Fell asleep.

Opened the windows at 10. No relief.  Still hot.

At 4:00 am, a cool breeze.

And yes, I am whining. With my outside voice.

Come back in October, and I will be pleasant again.